


Dance is the hidden language of the soul.

by Sansastarklives



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Ballet, F/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:38:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sansastarklives/pseuds/Sansastarklives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa has been at the Mockingbird school of dance for less than a year, and has only ever glimpsed at the owner and head, Monsieur Baelish, until today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance is the hidden language of the soul.

        “Stop, stop,  _stop!_ " The man roared, staring at the dancing girls in utter disgust. "This is wrong, all wrong. You’re hopeless, I don’t know what you’re even trying to do any more." Expressions of shame, exhaustion, and embarrassment crossed the dancers faces as they stared at the floor in defeat, their teacher tutting and shaking his head as he glared at each and every one of them. Sansa, however, stared back, her anger clear in her face. 

         ”We did exactly what you taught us to!” She snapped. The tension grew as the man stopped in his tracks, slowly turning to face her, his expression one of utter disbelief. For a moment Sansa thought he was simply going to stare at her, his gaze burning until she became nothing more than a pile of ashes on the ground, so she looked away. Wrong move. 

         ”What  _I_  taught you?” He sneered. “I did not teach you to be a bunch of buffoons, clumsily stumbling around the room in time to a piece of music. I did not  _teach you_  to look so ungraceful, so…  _dull._ " Sansa simply stared at her feet then, she’d worked so hard to get into this school, she wasn’t going to throw it all away after a couple of months because of some fickle man. "I teach you to beautiful performance, not a circus show, you stupid girl. It is not my fault if you can’t do the moves I give you." And that was it she couldn’t hold her tongue.

           ”I  _can_  do the moves,” she whispered, her gaze still fixed on her ballet shoes. “I did exactly as you said.” She dared a glance up when there came no reply. Her teacher was marching towards her, anger lining his features as he began to shout about her _insolence_. 

          “Monsieur Beaumont?” A low voice called from the doorway, the man halting, eyes wide. In the doorway stood a man with dark greying hair, and a pointed beard, dressed in a white shirt with black trouser pants. Sansa had only ever seen glimpses of the man in all of her eight months hear. He was the owner of the Mockingbird school of gifted dancers, but rarely made an appearance, instead usually residing in his office, working away. He was the reason the school was so exclusive, said to have hand picked each and every pupil, although never stayed to watch them perform or train. Eight months, and months but glimpses and rumours, and he chooses to present himself  _now_?  _  
_

Sansa’s breathing was nothing more than shallow breaths as he strode into the room, stepping directly between Sansa and Monsieur Beaumont. A deadly silence filled the air, all of the girls looking at anywhere but _him_. “What is the problem here, Monsieur?” The teacher simply stared for a moment, before squaring his shoulders, jerking his chin in the direction of Sansa.

          “This silly girl was being rude, Monsieur Baelish. I was just about to tell her to leave when you came in.” He smiled, the look distorting his features until his brown eyes were too narrow, wrinkled at the edges, and lips turned upwards in a sly, falsely angle. Baelish half turned, glimpsing at her, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip.

         ”I’ll deal with this, Monseiur Beaumont. Please continue your lesson. Good work, girls.” He nodded towards them, a smile on his lips, but not his eyes. Not that any of the girls noticed, as they were too busy blushing, and gushing at each other over the man’s kind words. He nodded once again at their thanks, before swiftly turning and marching out of the room. Sansa quickly followed, her stomach twisting almost painfully at what awaited once she left the room.  _You’ve ruined it already, couldn’t even make it a year_. She told herself over and over how she should have kept her mouth shut, all the way through the grand corridors, where pale walls stretched into a great arch above them, decorated with drawings pretty, dancing maids, with flowers in their hair.

         By the time they reached an oak draw with the name  _P. Baelish_  engraved in dark, cursive letters, her breathing was almost none existent. The man stepped inside, leaving the door open for her to follow. Once inside Sansa was awed simply at the size of the place, decorated with a book covered wall, a large leather couch facing it, companied with a small wooden desk, and old styled grey lamp. Behind the grand desk at the end of the room, were two windows spanning ceiling to floor, bathing the room in a golden glow, until each speck of dust could be seen in the rays of sunlight. On the other side of the room hung a large painting of a man holding a red haired woman, who was bowing backwards, a smile lacing her lips as she-

        “Miss Stark,” he called, continuing past his desk, towards a small door beside the painting. Through the door was a slightly smaller room, yet still large for a simple side room. Three walls were lined with mirrors, separated through the centre by a wooden handlebar. Sunlight shone in through the window on the slanted ceiling, bringing the room to life. “So I thought we could begin wi-“

          “Begin? I’m sorry, Mr Baelish, but I’m confused…” She mumbled, glancing around the room. Where was the shouting? The fury?

           ”Confused? You do realise you’re attending a dance school, don’t you, Sansa?” He smirked, taking a step closer to her when she nodded. “And you can see that this is a dance room, can’t you?” He half whispered, as though it were some kind of secret. Sansa simply nodded again, cheeks reddening. “And you’re here to be taught how to dance, aren’t you?” She nodded again, and he took another step closer, now without arms reach. “So what do you think we’re going to do then?” His tone was not condescending as he spoke, simply amused.

            “Dance.” She peeked up quickly to see him watching her intently, green eyes narrowed, as though he were reading a fascinating novel, searching for a meaning in the words on the page.

            “Clever girl,” he smirked, pulling a remote out of his pocket. A push of a button, and a gentle melody filled the room, the piano notes signing out in harmony. “First position,” he called out. Sansa’s heels snapped together, toes turned out as she brought her arms out before her in an oval, the tips of her fingers pointed towards each other, her face expressionless as she stared at herself in the mirror before her. “Second position.” Her feet tore apart, her arms raised out at her sides, straight but not stretching, slightly in front of herself. “Third position.” Her right foot slid across the smooth floorboards until it stopped, crossed with the left foot, her right arm moving into a curve in front of her stomach, left arm staying in place. “Fourth position,” he called just as she righted the position. Her right foot slid forwards a little, whilst her right arm rose above her head, her gaze still boring into her reflection, ensuring each move was perfect. “Fifth position.” Sansa’s right foot slid till it was crossed, touching her left, her left arm raising to mirror her right. “Good.” Sansa allowed herself a small smile. These were only the basic moves of a ballet dancer, but praise from the head of her school was still praise worth having, not matter how simple the moves.

          “Now begin your dance,” he nodded.  _Don’t screw up, don’t screw up. He is watching you, it has to be perfect_. She whispered the words over and over in her mind, as she moved through the steps she knew so well. These were the steps she’d danced a hundred times, gone over and over until she knew how every inch of her body should be for every move, until she was incorporating them into her everyday life, until her feet ached, and limbs burnt from dancing. These were the steps she lived to, until it was time to learn her next dance. As Sansa spun a pirouette, he whispered “no.” It was more than any shout or scream would have done, and she faltered, her feet sticking to the ground until she stumbled, landing as a heap of limbs on the floor. Blood rushed to her cheeks as he rushed to help her, a smile on his lips, as he righted her. However even when she was standing steady on her feet, his grip did not loosen on her upper arm. 

         Mr Baelish simply stared at her for moment, his face barely inches from hers, the scent of mint teasing her senses. “You can do the moves, Sansa. You can dance and dance well, but… you’re too stuck in your head. You obviously know these moves inside out, as if they are almost natural, but you’re too stuck in your head to let them be natural.”

        “I’m sorry,” she breathed, her gaze wondering from his burning stare. “I’m just not used to the  _head_  of this school watching me dance.”

        “Does it intimidate you when I watch you dance?” He smirked when she nodded, his other hand tilting her chin until her gaze met his. “Your audience will intimidate you, will compel you to be perfect. Forget it all, and dance. You must lose yourself in the moves, and the music, or you might as well leave here now. Understand?” It was then Sansa noticed the way his thumb was slightly stroking the soft skin of her underarm where he was still holding her, but he tore away as if her touch had burnt when she nodded. “Again.”

         Hours seemed to pass as Sansa danced for him, slowly losing herself the music, until she was no longer thinking about the moves, until her arms and legs moved into the position themselves, like she were in another’s body, unable to stop herself. Mr Baelish stopped her numerous times, never more than a few feet away from her, and reaching out to correct her stance, his hand fixing her arm, or leg, until it was perfect, and the continued, until needing to be correcting again. Once or twice his hand lingered, almost caressing the skin as he brought her thigh higher, or her arm straighter. Each time Sansa dismissed it, sure she was just imagining it, after having never been taught one to one before. This endless circle continued until a dull ache begin in her feet, and a slow burn began in her muscles. 

         ”You are a wonderful dancer, Sansa.” He smiled, this one seemingly more real than the others. Each word brought him a step closer until he was almost touching her. “One last dance before we finish,” he whispered, reaching out for her, until they fell into the usual steps. They mirrored each others moves, until they moved as one, one never straying far from the other. His hands rounded on her waist, lifting her as she stretched out her legs, her toes pointed, feet flickering back and forth as her arms raised above them, a small smile tugging at her lips. Once back on the ground, she spun, eyeing the reflection of an auburn blur in the mirror. Then he was facing her, as she brought one leg up, one of his hands falling to her thigh, whilst the other held her waist, her other leg behind her, as she bent backwards, her head falling back until all she could see was ceiling, depending on him to keep her from falling. All too soon her feet were sliding to the floor, her face stopping the ghost of a breath before his, an unreadable expression on his features. His eyes suddenly seemed more grey than grey now, filled with a look she could only define as a hunger. There was more to the dance, but they simply stood still, fronts touching, staring at each other, breathing heavily.

         ”I could teach you so much, Sansa.” He breathed, his fingers tracing along her cheekbone. If she looked hard enough, it almost looked as though their were a sadness in his grey eyes. She knew he meant more than just dancing from the way he watched her, the way his gaze then drifted from her icy orbs to her pink pinks, his tongue swiping across his lips.

         ”I’d like that,” she replied, the words leaving her lips without a thought. “I mean-” Suddenly his lips were on hers, moulding themselves to fit perfectly against hers, his hands encircling her until she was flush against him. Eyes closed, she melted into the kiss, her own hands travelling to his back, his dark hair. He moaned as she opened her lips to his tongue, pushing her backwards until her back hit the wall. His lips cascaded down her neck then, teeth nipping at her pale skin, leaving a trail of pink reminders. His hand moved from behind her, sweeping down her front, gliding through the gap in her breasts, along her stomach, until he found the place between her thighs. Soft moans sang out above the music, taking the form of his name. His fingers rubbed over the thin fabric of her leotard, working in small, rapid circles, until her head was buried in his shoulder, teeth sinking into lower lip to stop the scream sure to leave her lips if they open. His lips were on her’s again then, swallowing her moans, as though he had been a man starved. Sansa’s legs were growing weak beneath her, the hours of dancing finally catching up with her, as she lost herself in the pleasure of his fingers. 

         If this had been before today, she would have never have been in this position. She wouldn’t have allowed herself to be pushed between a wall and a man, the owner of her school no less. She wouldn’t have allowed his fingers to brush, rub, and tease her cunt, as though she were some kind of new instrument to play, rubbing harsher or too gently depending on how loud, how desperate he wanted her moans to be. She wouldn’t have allowed any of this to happen, yet here she was, panting, and  _begging_  for more, hips thrusting to match the movement of his hand, chasing at pleasure as though it dangled before her, just out of reach. But there is a saying she knew, that  _dance is the hidden language of the soul_ , and when you dance with someone, really dance with someone, until your bodies move as one, and you can no longer tell your limb from theirs, you see into them, you see who they are. Even when dancing Baelish was hard to read, he wasn’t vulnerabe, wasn’t bare like everyone else was, like Sansa was. And it intrigued her. He knew  _so_  much more, when she bared herself dancing for him, and it made her felt less in control, less powerful, and she found something unexpected. She found that she liked it. But now, with her body pressed against his, moaning out as he whispered his praise, his promises to make her better (make her more like him she hoped), she was seeing him more vulnerable than any dancer. A dark hunger filled his gaze as his lips ripped from her neck, his gaze burning into hers as he whispered to her.

          “My Sansa,” his breath husky. “I shall make you,” he promised. “You’ll be perfect.” He head hit the wall as she moaned, gaze still locked on his. “You shall be  _my star_.” And with that she came, feeling like a blinding light as wave after wave came over her, trembling in his arms as she called out his name. He pulled away when she settled, lips gently brushing against hers one last time, before guiding her back towards his office. She felt unsteady on her feet, walking as if in a haze, still coming to terms with the days strange events. 

           ”Um… Thank you, Monsieur Baelish.” The words were but a mumble from her lips, which were swelling slightly from his bruising kiss. “For the lesson,” she added quickly, as he smirked at her from behind his desk. “Goodbye then.”

            “Sansa,” he called as she turned. “Monsieur Beaumont is no longer your teacher.” She turned, brows merged in confusion. “I am. Until tomorrow, miss Stark.” He nodded, dismissing her.  _Until tomorrow, Monsieur._

**Author's Note:**

> I just had some Dance Teacher!Petyr feels, and I haven't written in a while, so any comments would be great thanks :)


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